


enchanter thekla the librarian

by poochooey



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-30
Updated: 2011-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-23 06:05:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/247039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poochooey/pseuds/poochooey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some snippets of Karl and Anders' relationship in the Circle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	enchanter thekla the librarian

**Author's Note:**

> This is a birthday present for the wonderful shimmy!

Karl’s sorting books in the library again.

Maybe he does it to relieve stress, arranging them in clean alphabetical order, at least until the next apprentice comes along to mess it all up a few minutes later. Maybe the templars make him do it.

Either way, Karl always takes a second or two to turn around and face Anders, always absorbed, his index finger lightly stroking the spine of the book. Anders watches his hand; the jagged edges of a nail-biter.

“I didn't know they celebrated name days here in the Circle,” Anders says.

Karl raises his head slowly. The wrinkles in the corners of his eyes deepen, and that’s how Anders knows he’s happy to see him. “They don't.”

Of course they don’t.

“So Enchanter Thekla is special, is he? Or maybe he’s just especially talented,“ Anders grins, shifting his weight to his other foot, hip sticking out a little, maybe a lot. Karl looks, but only for a second.

“Enchanter Thekla is _not_ special,” he clears his throat, ignoring the second part, finger back to rubbing the spine of his book. His uneven nails scrape audibly against the cover and he murmurs, “Somebody just arranged it, I suppose.”

Anders doesn’t ask who, maybe because it doesn’t matter, maybe because it does. Instead, he asks, “the templars are letting you get away with it, then? Lucky you, right?”

Karl shakes his head. “I don’t know who told you this, but I don’t really want to talk about it, Anders.”

“Why not?” Anders leans against the shelf and his elbow knocks over a couple dusty tomes on Arcane spells. He sees Karl’s shoulders stiffen. “Bad memories?”

“No. Just nosy apprentices,” Karl gives him a stern look before reaching over Anders’ elbow and straightening the books. Anders can feel the heat of his arm along with the scent of something mellow yet strong, like overripe fruit. He doubts Karl would appreciate that comparison, and he knows when to move out of the way, and when not to follow Karl’s backside with his eyes as he leaves the library, though the latter is somewhat harder to accomplish.

\--

“Is that a spider bite?” The way Karl looks at him, sitting across him in the dining commons, thumb rubbing the crumbs off his piece of bread; it almost makes Anders want to apologize. Almost. He still feels his skin burn, the bruises on his neck so clear it’s as if he was marked with a branding iron rather than Ser Second Floor Blonde Templar’s lips.

Anders doesn’t usually try to remember their names. It makes for fair game when they don’t remember his own.

“Nasty little blighters.,” he agrees instead, grinning like he couldn’t care less, “they quite like the taste of me.”

\---

Karl’s name day is a week before Anders’ scheduled Harrowing, a fact Anders tries ignore, but with little success. As with most unpleasant thoughts, it sticks with him like tar.

 _Someone_ up there must be happy with Karl, or worse, have something _for_ Karl.

Perhaps Enchanter Thekla enchanted whoever it was one times too many with his soft, honest voice and his healing hands, Anders thinks, raising his glass with the others.

The templars stand both inside and outside the massive doors, watching them through the slits in their helmets. They look like angry thimbles, and Anders whispers as much to Mr. Wiggums, feeding him scraps under the table.

It’s a small celebration, hardly a celebration at all, and it’s over quick. Anders toasts Karl at one point to congratulate him on becoming an even older fart. He does this while standing on the table, with the other apprentices cheering him on. Karl hides his face with a hand, but Anders points to him and says, “Come on, Karl, I see you smiling!”

One of the templars forces him off the table, cursing and demanding he behave or by the Maker this little pathetic party will be over before it has a chance to begin.

Anders is familiar with the harsh words, but he’s also familiar with that voice. He straightens and nods, mouth twitching at the corner until he can’t help but leer at Ser Blonde.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, and lightly touches the inside of the templar’s arm. Ser Blonde flinches and draws back, repeating that Anders needs to behave, _mage_ , before retreating to his spot at the door. Anders turns around, cheeks flushed in victory, and Karl is looking at him again.

\--

“You got me a gift?” Karl turns the package over in his hands, a ribbon made of yarn knotted across the middle.

Anders purses his lips, nods. Karl tears away the paper. Neatly, Anders notices, rough nail and smooth thumb splitting a straight line along the side. He holds the gift up, setting the paper and ribbon on the table. The rest of the mages chat amongst themselves now, a couple leaving to bed, a couple leaving to drink some smuggled mead.

“It’s a book,” Karl says.

“Seems eyes aren’t the first thing to go after all,” Anders replies, and Karl fixes his eyes on him, sharp silver that compliments the grey in his beard, the grey near his temples.

Anders wants to say _you’re lucky I’m even still here_ , but that feels inappropriate even for him, and Karl thanks him, nods to himself absentmindedly, and thanks him again.

“I have something else,” Anders begins, tilting his head, hand reaching behind to smooth his hair. He can see Karl staring at the marks on his throat, lighter now; still unsightly. “I think I’m tired of this party, though. If you could call it that.”

Karl chuckles and agrees, and licks his bottom lip.

Anders knows he’s being obvious at this point, so he adds, “the apprentice dorms will be more crowded than here. Would…your room be an option?”

“Oh,” Karl stares at the book in his hands, “sure, sure.”

\--

Later, Anders wonders if maybe he wasn’t obvious enough, because when he grabs hold of Karl’s shoulders he’s shoved away by a man whose reflexes are too quick for his age.

“You don’t like me?” he asks, then groans inwardly because it comes out so needy.

Karl’s eyes flash like knives, “you do this for everyone?”

“I try,” Anders can’t stop himself, “it gets hard around summer, I think. Lots of babies born during that time, I guess, but I’m generous. It’s torture to my—“

“Thank you for the gift,” Karl picks the book up again from where he set it on his bed, “it’ll make a good paperweight.” He smiles like he’s joking around, but the lines around his mouth don’t match up with the lines around his eyes.

Anders laughs, but he’s stung. It coils around itself in his stomach on his walk back to the quarters, twisting as he lies down next to Mr. Wiggums, who has designated the spot near Anders’ head, and sometimes on Anders’ head, as his home. Anders murmurs something into the cat’s fur, stroking it behind the ears, and Wiggums purrs in response.

\--

Anders passes his Harrowing with flying colors, and by ‘flying colors’ he means ‘still alive,’ and though he smiles and brags about how easy it was, it all means nothing when he sees the front door blow open later that day, Greagoir yelling at one of the newer recruits to keep that damn door shut, and doesn’t he know that the rats swarm inside looking for warmth this time of year?

Idiots, Anders would say if he spoke rat, let’s trade places and then see where the real warmth is.

\--

Anders helps Karl put away books, and he finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he thought he would. There is something relaxing about handing Karl the next in a series of encyclopedia regarding the healing arts, as well as the way his fingers brush Anders’ sometimes.

“I _was_ joking, you know,” Anders holds a tome hostage, flipping it open like he knows what’s inside already.

Karl looks at him, calm, controlled. “Funny.”

“I know,” Anders frowns, “wait, no. No, it’s not. I don’t…it’s not like you think. I mean, despite my charm and my stunning good looks,” he touches his earring, handing the book off to Karl.

“I read a little of the book you gave me,” Karl’s fingers start rubbing the spine of the one in his hands. “I thought it was about force magic at first.”

Anders grins. “Fooled you, didn’t I?”

“I finished it, actually,” Karl admits, his gaze dropping to his feet, “the first night.”

Anders laughs and raises his eyebrows incredulously, “Enchanter Thekla, are you _blushing_?”

“No,” Karl lifts his hand to his cheek, checking for heat, and Anders steps forward, fingers curling around the edge of Karl’s jaw. His thumb grazes the thick beard there, and Karl’s lips part slightly, and he doesn’t push Anders away.

\--

The kiss behind the books is quick and chaste; a peck of dry, chapped lips that leaves Karl stuffing a book on Tevinter apparel right next to one on Dalish cooking as he follows Anders upstairs again.

\--

Anders doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel when Karl kisses his throat, right over the healed skin, the bristles of his beard scraping against his own stubble. It’s almost possessive, maybe it _is_ possessive, and Anders grips the back of Karl’s head to pull him closer, craning his neck.

They don’t talk much; Anders cracks a joke here and makes a quip there, but when he realizes that Karl is impossibly hard under his robes, hands drifting down to lift the hem over his knees, he has nothing to say.

He’s all fumbles at first, knowing what to do but a bit overeager. Karl’s palms cover his and he teaches him more than just magic, jagged fingernails scratching sharp in contrast to the dull ache in his loins.

\--

“Karl,” he whispers at one point, from deep within his lungs, and Karl bows his head against his hips, mouth opening and tongue sliding over his cock, and Anders has to bite the sheets. 

\--

Karl is slow, excruciatingly slow and gentle, oiling him until Anders can’t move without feeling slick _somewhere_ , thighs slipping together, Karl’s fingers sliding over the muscle as he massages his legs, thumbs rubbing the soft skin where thigh meets hip.

Karl is polite, but transparent sometimes, especially in times like these, where his hair falls over his creased brow, damp with sweat, forearms shaking where he braces himself against Anders, holding back; always holding back. Anders reaches behind, gripping Karl’s erection to guide Karl into him, the two of them working together, Karl gasping ragged into his neck and Anders trying not to burst.

Karl is still a teacher, in the end of it all. He murmurs encouragements and thanks Anders when he twists a certain way, and it makes Anders feel useful and so good as he comes all over Karl’s sheets, the rough material rubbing against his balls and sending shivers through his spine, but afterwards it he realizes it also makes him feel strangely sad.

\--

They lay together, Karl’s arm draped loosely over Anders’ chest, Anders’ hand curled up against his chest.Anders chews his bottom lip the whole night until it hurts the next morning, afraid that if he stops, he’ll say something he’ll regret.

\--

Karl smiles at one point when sorting books in the library the next day, right out of the blue, his eyes crinkling, though he doesn’t share why. It should be easy enough to guess, Anders thinks, holding a stack of literature and research, reaching up to kiss Karl’s bearded cheek.

End


End file.
